


long way around

by athena3062



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Western AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6816151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena3062/pseuds/athena3062
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Western AU with bounty hunter Emma and blacksmith Killian.</p><p>She’s been lost for years, chasing ghosts and carrying the weight of her past. He’s been passing time, letting life move around him. But maybe none of that matters anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	long way around

Emma watched him circle her horse for a second time. She squeezed her hand into a tight fist, frustration rising.

 

"It's in rough shape."

 

She was wasting daylight but she'd been on the trail for too long to simply give up. "But can you fix it?"

 

"Course. Come back on Thursday."

 

"Thursday!" The trail would be gone, along with any hope of collecting the reward money.

 

"It's the best I can do." Before she could argue with the obvious lie, he gestured across the paddock. "See those two? They need to be ready for the stagecoach when it comes through. And I have ten more things that need to be done before I can see to your horse."

 

Emma crossed her arms defiantly. If she had known that Storybrooke's blacksmith was a mile outside the town center, she might not have turned back. But she couldn't lose this horse; she'd won him in a poker game and he was better than any beast she could afford.

 

"What if I help?"

 

He scowled. "You ever work a chisel before? Or tried to lift a sledgehammer? What about taking a hot iron out of the fire? Any of that sound familiar to you?"

 

Emma bristled but refused to back down. "No, but you're telling me that's all you do?"

 

"Hazards of the profession," he replied. His left hand twitched, knuckles hitting his leg. He stuffed his hand into his pocket before she could get a better look.

 

"I'm strong," she argued. "I can help."

 

He shook his head but didn't turn away. Emma held his gaze; she'd stared down men twice his size over higher stakes. She wouldn't blink first.

 

When he looked away, she suppressed a triumphant smile and raised both eyebrows expectantly.

 

"Fine," he relented. He was impressed, she could see it in his eyes before his expression changed. "Come on."

 

She followed him around the barn, thinking about the package of letters waiting in Denver. Henry's teacher posted a bundle monthly; most of the letters were about his lessons or classmates but they kept Emma going when the weather turned or she wanted to give up. Without the letters, she would have lost hope two years before.

 

As they moved through his workspace he rattled off a list of chores better suited for someone Henry’s age. She didn’t argue; the faster she started, the faster she could be back on the trail.

 

The reward wasn't much but it would chip away at the debt. She was close to the balance, only a few more months if she had calculated correctly and pushed hard.

 

She set off toward the treeline. Collecting fruit was simple enough. Her mind turned furiously as she worked. If the horse wasn't ready, she could stay in town. The saloon owner didn't mind if Emma beat his regulars at cards, so long as she gave him a cut. It was worth the lost hours of sleep to spend a few hours inside.

 

Emma worked steadily to the sound of hammer hitting metal; the smell wasn't bad if she stayed upwind. If she didn't pick up the trail by week's end, she'd head to Denver. It wasn't the most convenient place but she could post her letters, make her deposits, and pick up a new group of posters.

 

The sun was high and her hat offered little relief. The pins holding her braid off her neck pressed painfully against her skull but she didn't bother to remove them. She'd left her coat draped over his fencepost but her skirts trapped the heat.

 

She carried the full basket across the yard and propped it near the door, unwilling to enter his home. The cabin was small but it had a porch with carved wooden columns. Someone had put a lot of care into its finishing.

 

As she set off for another load, something white near the treeline caught her attention. Emma squinted and made her way across the yard. The space looked like a garden on the cusp of being overgrown. Four posts marked the corners; a faded length of fabric was tied to one.

 

Emma caught the material between her fingers. Its edges were frayed and the color had been bleached away by the sun, but she could still make out the name Milah embroidered along the length.

 

"Miss?"

 

Emma dropped her hand quickly, a flush creeping along her neck. She turned, squinting against the sun. "Yes?" She was careful not to holler loudly, pitching her voice slightly higher than normal to answer his call.

 

"I'm breaking for dinner. There's plenty if you're hungry."

 

She nodded, stomach suddenly clenched with hunger. It was easy to ignore her body's demands for food and sleep if she was moving, but once she stopped it became nearly impossible. "Alright."

 

Emma found him bent over a small fire in the shadow of the barn. She settled herself onto a short stump. The shade was a relief from the hot sun.

 

He passed a metal plate in her direction and she accepted it with a small grin. The pork was tough but the bread crumbled easily between her fingers. Emma tucked in three mouthfuls before she realized that he was staring.

 

"Most men would take your silence as off-putting." He took a sip from the metal flask in his right hand.

 

"Not you?" She muttered the question around a piece of bread.

 

He smirked. "I like a challenge."

 

Emma swallowed hard, fingers checking the corners of her mouth for crumbs.

 

"You're awfully far from town." The observation wasn't special but she wasn't comfortable with small talk. Emma gripped the plate with both hands to stop herself from gobbling down the rest of her food. He was nearly finished with his meal.

 

"I don't sleep much." He let out a humorless laugh. "Folks didn't appreciate my working at night. Out here no one complains."

 

She'd spent so long deflecting personal inquiries that it felt strange to ask one. But her curiosity was piqued. Emma waited until his mouth was full before asking about the embroidered name.

 

He raised the flask to his mouth and took a long sip. "Someone from long ago."

 

"What happened?" She slipped the last piece of pork into her mouth.

 

"Rattlesnake," he replied darkly.

 

"I'm sorry." Her throat was dry and Emma reached for the coffee pot. She was so focused on not looking at him that she missed the handle and pressed her palm against the hot metal.

 

"Damn." She withdrew her hand quickly but a pink burn had already appeared.

 

"What happened?" He set aside his plate and moved to her side.

 

"Nothing," she protested. The pain was sharp but she'd endured worse burns from rope and reins.

 

He reached out his hand. "May I?"

 

She twisted away. His quiet tone set her on edge. "It's fine."

 

"I was a doctor once." He offered the information quietly, offering his hands for her inspection. Emma's gaze flickered to his left hand. Two fingers were bent at strange angles and his knuckles were covered in a patchwork of scars.

 

She should leave, tell him to keep the horse and take a stagecoach to Denver.

 

"Please." He held her gaze and Emma tried to relax, extending her hand tentatively.

 

He touched her fingers gently. "You're right, you'll be fine." She'd expected him to release her hand but instead he traced his thumb lightly over the callous at the base of her index finger. It had become infected several weeks back and hadn't healed properly, still raised and tender.

 

Emma struggled to maintain steady breathing. Her hands were rough, but life on the frontier was hard. Many women has callouses and scars on their skin. But when his eyes met hers, Emma felt exposed. She went to great lengths not to stand out. Her life was difficult enough without drawing more attention.

 

She pulled her hand back quickly; the same movement she'd seen well-to-do women employ when a suitor pressed his advantage.

 

"I should get back to work." She stood up quickly, smoothing her skirt with her uninjured hand, resisting the urge to check her knife. It was still there, she could feel the leather band around her thigh, but she felt off-balance.

 

"Your horse is nearly ready." Emma frowned, certain she'd heard him wrong, but he shrugged. "The stagecoach won't arrive until week's end. I took the liberty of seeing to your horse."

 

"Oh." She didn't tell him that she knew the stagecoach schedule better than anyone. Anything to avoid surprises on the road.

 

He looked at her intently. "I thought you'd be pleased."

 

"I am," she answered, voice shaking. Emma cleared her throat. "Thank you."

 

Emma watched him walk away, her left hand clenched in a tight fist. Once he was out of sight she turned away, heart pounding. It wasn't like her to be so careless.

 

The hour slipped past and she had nearly finished restocking the wood pile when he told her the horse was ready. This time her thanks was sincere.

 

He named a price and she went to her saddlebag without argument. Her fingers closed around the leather pouch and she yanked it roughly.

 

"I could do with an apprentice," he said.

 

Grateful her back was turned, Emma shook her head. "You'd miss the quiet." Her hand trembled as she counted the coins.

 

She turned, holding her breath until she'd passed him the money. Emma climbed easily into the saddle, turning her horse around so they could return to the main road.

 

"Good day Mister Jones." She'd gotten his name from the general store owner's wife but hadn’t meant to use it.

 

He looked up, dark hair falling over his forehead. "Killian," he corrected, holding out his hand.

 

Emma shifted the reins to one side and reached out her hand. "Emma Swan."

 

Killian shook her hand gently. "Pleasure." When he released her hand, Emma's fingers felt cold.

 

He shuffled backwards. "If you need another shoe repaired..."

 

"I know where to find you," she replied, pressing her knees gently against the horse's sides.

 

//////

 

Emma squinted, trying to orient herself in the darkness. The weak moonlight provided adequate cover but on the deserted roads, her eyes couldn't be trusted. By some miracle she'd been able to guide her horse, legs pressed against its sides and reins tight around her wrists. The jostling made her side ache with every step but she couldn't rest. She'd packed a cloth filled with powder against the wound, slowing the bleeding but doing nothing to lessen the pain.

 

She strained, blood pounding in her ears, when she saw his familiar fence. It was the first place that came to mind.

 

The air had turned cold. She'd been gone nearly a month; he could have moved on and the homestead might be deserted.

 

Emma moved the horse as close to the house as she could manage but dismounting proved more difficult than expected. She stumbled to the ground and fell heavily against the porch steps, not caring about the noise.

 

The front door opened, lamplight casting an orange glow in front of her face. Emma tried to look up but blackness had narrowed her vision. He said something but she couldn't answer.

 

There was a heavy thump and then Emma felt two arms around her ribs. His right hand was too close to her wound and she groaned in pain.

 

Somehow he got her into the house and deposited on a narrow bed. The wooden brace slid back into position across the door. Emma couldn't catch her breath. She tried to focus on the roof but the room continued to spin.

 

It was a gamble coming here. She barely knew him and wasn't sure she trusted him, but none of that mattered if her wound got infected.

 

He placed a lamp on the table near her head; she grimaced at the brightness. "Can you move?"

 

She nodded, trying to focus on his face. A pillow went behind her head and she tried to lift herself up. The motion sent fire racing down her side. She groaned and he bent forward, lifting her higher on the pillow.

 

“What happened?” His attention was fixed on her left. She struggled to pull her shirt from her trousers. The fabric was ruined already, sticky with blood and sweat.

 

"Swan!" His expression was stricken. "You've been-"

 

"Shot," she finished weakly, gritting her teeth against the pain.

 

"Who did this?" He lifted the lamp from the table, tilting it closer to her injury.

 

Tears burned her eyes. She had been close to paying off the debt; the realization had made her sloppy. Without the money Henry would have to spend another year away.

 

"It doesn't matter," she replied weakly. Her feet were cold but sweat dripped down her forehead. "Can you stitch it up?"

 

He hesitated, fingers tangled in the fabric of her shirt. "I don't think that's wise."

 

She inhaled sharply, mustering the last of her energy. "Don't make me do it myself." It was a bluff. She'd patched a fair share of her own injuries, but this was too much. She was too far gone from pain.

 

He disappeared from her field of vision. She tried to call for him but her lips wouldn't form words. Sleep beckoned like a familiar friend.

 

His fingers were warm against her wrist. "Stay with me Swan. I've got you."

 

She murmured something, allowing herself to sink into the blissful darkness.

 

/////

 

When Emma woke up the fire had burned down but the room was warm. She struggled to sit up, hissing as the movement sent pain racing across her stomach.

 

She heard voices outside and struggled to swing her legs over the bed. Emma braced one hand on the bedpost. She swayed on her feet, blood rushing to her head. When her vision cleared, she lurched unsteadily toward the door. Every step ached.

 

The door swung open and Killian stepped over the threshold. "What are you doing?" His hand closed around her elbow, but instead of steering her back to the bed, he helped her onto the bench.

 

"You should be resting."

 

She could barely look him in the eye. One wrong step and her life would crumble; she would never be able to give Henry a proper home. "Who was outside?"

 

He bent over the fire and spooned something into a bowl. "The Sheriff. Tracking two outlaws who robbed a stagecoach a few days back. We're the nearest town between them and a rail station."

 

Emma was grateful Killian's back was turned. Luck had been on her side last night, otherwise the shot might have caught her in the shoulder or heart.

 

"You're a horrible patient," he chided. Killian turned around, plate balanced on his left hand and a tin cup in the other.  "How do you feel?"

 

"I'll live," she replied with a half-smile, accepting the oatmeal. The coffee was bitter but she drank greedily. She set down the cup. "I should thank you."

 

"Aye." He sat beside her on the bench and fixed her with an intense stare. "You should." He reached into his jacket and placed a thick fold of papers on the table. “I found these in your coat.”

 

"Liar," she replied.

 

The corners of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. "You're a bounty hunter."

 

Emma nodded. "How long have you known?"

 

"Few weeks. Wasn't sure until last night. You brought in that soldier last month, didn't you?"

 

“Yes.” She'd gone to town after leaving him and heard some men talking about an abandoned mine tunnel. The man had been camped near the entrance.

 

"And the Sheriff doesn't know?"

 

She shook her head. "No one asks a lot of questions. It's better that way."

 

Emma didn't mention her precautions: covering her throat with a bandana, wearing thick gloves and the boots with paper stuffed in the toes. She tried to talk as little as possible, collecting the money without fanfare. A list of towns was hidden in the hem of her dress; she was vigilant about choosing different rail stations, marking off towns where the Sheriff didn't take kindly to strangers.

 

Killian unfolded the packet, one hand holding down the corner. “You found these two?”

 

Emma swallowed her oatmeal before answering. "Yeah. Not that it did much good. They're probably halfway across the territory by now."

 

He gestured at the price beneath the sketches with his left hand. “All cash?”

 

Emma nodded. Her coffee was nearly gone.

 

"I want half."

 

"No. I work alone."

 

"You'll rip those stitches through," he retorted. "Won't last a day out there."

 

"I don't need your help."

 

"Not offering help. I want a cut of the reward."

 

The reasons why working with Killian Jones was a bad idea was longer than the distance between her and Denver. But Emma couldn't pass up an opportunity to bring in the two brothers. It was a bigger bounty than she could bring in alone. "Fine. Ten percent if we get both."

 

"Forty," he countered. "Don't forget, I saved your life."

 

"Twenty-five." She finished her coffee and set the cup down.

 

"Deal." His teeth flashed in a wolfish smile. "Fancy heading East?"

 

"North," she corrected. "If they want to hide, the woods are better than anywhere else."

 

He stood up from the table. "What are you waiting for then? Adventure awaits."

 

Emma rolled her eyes but didn't correct him. Adventure indeed.


End file.
